


From the Logs of Sylph

by Forest_Girl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: aliens that aren't trolls, black ships, clusterfuckstuck, i made a god damn skin for this shit, mother of fuck i hate you formatting, pale ships, red ships, time why do you make me write things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_Girl/pseuds/Forest_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The guider of your thoughts, the Sylph of Mind, one of the gods who created your civilization, was the worse one you could cross. Said to eliminate all of the thoughts of you even contemplating attacking him, making him angry was the swiftest way to end your life. Many people hail him in hopes to stave off their minds being healed to the point where they have no cares in the world, and slowly die as they lack the will to live.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>So naturally, you just happen to end up with a file detailing their entire life, and even that is summarized. Your friend peers over your shoulder as she reads her own journal, gifted to the Goddess, the Theif of Time.</p><p>Why the fuck are you in this situation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Logs of Sylph

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [From the Pocketbook of Thief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2634767) by [TimelessThief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessThief/pseuds/TimelessThief). 
  * Inspired by [From the Pocketbook of Thief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2634767) by [TimelessThief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessThief/pseuds/TimelessThief). 



The world almost seems to hate you. Your astrology program, the one you specifically made so that you could keep track of the constellations, crashed with the rest of your laptop. It took you hours for you to rewire everything and fix the damn thing’s code so that it wouldn’t happen again, only to have the monitor freak out on you. You were incredibly tempted to toss the thing out of the window, call it quits and try to build a new one from the ruined scrap, but you needed it to keep track of the prophecies you’ve made (that so far haven’t come true but you aren’t holding your tongue).

That and the monitor flashed back to life.

Of course, with all of the luck you’ve got, instead of going to your brilliantly designed desktop wallpaper and showing all of the available programs, it goes to a text document filled with pages upon pages of purple text. Finding no close key and discovering that your usual ‘Control-Alt-Delete’ and ‘Hold Down The Power Button’ methods are ineffective against this, you do what any normal rational sentient being would do in this situation.

You begin to read.

_ Please note that a majority of the text below was transferred from a notebook. As such, this transcript has been edited grammatically and is indefinitely more legible than the original. Of course, at the same time, a few pages have been lost and the direct translation of said pages is estimated from mere memory and will not be 100% accurate. Also unlike the original, this will contain the direct pesterlogs I have available and have participated in, where you can see my friends and (if they are alive) contact them. _

_ This is all that I could salvage and, given my current situation, transferred it to a digital file. I copied it from cover to cover, and added more pages as time continues. My journey through this damn game has changed me, altered me physically and mentally, and while this ‘diary’ of sorts was originally what anyone would expect, it soon evolved into my own logging of my changes and the path that has presented itself to me. While this could be destiny or simply just me slipping on a banana peel down a steep slope where my inevitable death is at the bottom, I hope that this will serve to warn you and tell you my story. _

_ I refuse to be a nobody, someone only registered in shadows and just another face in the crowd. This will serve as my memorial to my friends, my childhood passions, and my remaining family. This will be the record of my existence. This will be my proof that I am not a mere human, but something more. This is the proof that I have made a colossal mistake, or a grand achievement, but as of right now I do not know. This is the proof that I have transcended death and faced morality, and also maybe had tea with the Grim Reaper. _

_ This is my journal, and it is 100% true. _

3/15/XX

Today my mother came up to me as I arrived home from school and handed me a small notebook. It was leather bound, a nice shade of ‘cowboy boot brown’, and had pages of blank lined paper. As she proceeded to make me a nice snack according to the traditional routine of returning from the ninth circle of hell known as Cove Spring Harbor, she explained it was simply a nice looking book that she had picked up at the local bookstore (that was three hours away, so like hell was I believing that) and had gotten for me to do with whatever I pleased.

While I could simply use this as an alternate scrap book for other works of fiction and English essays, I decided to scrap that idea and attempt to try and keep up a journal of sorts. I refuse to call this a diary, as I doubt that I will be able to keep this up on a day-to-day basis and I will probably just log this whenever I feel up to it/it is physically possible.

So allow me to simply write the basics that will probably be contradicted later on in life. My name is April Morin, a fourteen year old who identifies as a male, despite having the genetalia of a female. This is a term known as Transgender, and I have no intentions of transcending to Transexual, which is getting hormone injections to be closer to the other gender. I have a mother, a kind soul who doesn’t seem to click with my own personality well. She forbade me from using weapons, and it took me years to convince her to get me a box and arrow, along with a quiver. While I would have loved to be raised to learn how to use a sword, I was not lucky enough to be graced with a guardian that allows such swordplay in the house. I do not have many real life friends, and even if I did than we would not really be talking much simply because I am shit with responding to texting and socially awkward to the point where I will simply shut down in certain situations.

I am normally consulted with other teenagers over mentally tasking… tasks. I have gained the nickname ‘The Brainiac’ not only for my knowledge in academic studies, but for what to do in other situations. I normally am consulted and try to steer away others from doing incredibly stupid situations, and I hope that this will keep them from ending their lives at the young age of fifteen.

Regardless, I have also received a very AMAZING deal. I have been invited to the beta testing of a game that will revolutionize the rest of the gaming market. It is said to be incredibly immersive and an RPG mix, which is directly up my alley with games. It is, unfortunately, multiplayer, so I hope my co-players will be able to deal with my awkwardness and inability of responding. If I am the leader of this ‘session’ as I am calling it, then this team will fail at… whatever the task is. The details of this game that have been released to the public are few and far between, which is why I am incredibly lucky that I am even playing the game in a few weeks. It should come in the mail within a week, and meeting the other players shortly before then. I will have to try to intercept the mail before my mother, and I should be able to overpower her and grab the mail if need be it

Well, that would be the basics that I can currently think of, but I will probably add more as time progresses. That will be all for now, and I hope that this journal will flourish in time.

\- AM

This… This can’t be possible. This has to be a joke played by Mylann to get a rise out of you, right? She doesn’t know any programming or what your computers IP address is, but she’s the only one you know that could possibly pull this shit off with skill.

…Right?

\-- omnipotentOracle [OO] began bothering grandCatastrophe [GC] \--

OO: f(I)x my fuck(I)ng computer d(I)ckwad  
GC: >:0 EXCUSE ME GRUMPY PANTS???????  
OO: you heard me you fuck(i)ng feather duster  
OO: you sent me th(I)s f(I)le and youve had your fun  
OO: now get (I)t off of my fuck(I)ng screen  
OO: or so help me (I) w(I)ll f(I)nd your favor(I)te tunnels to explore and blow them r(I)ght to the god’s doorsteps  
GC: >:| I HAVE no IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. I’M NOT EVEN NEAR MY COMPUTER RN.  
GC: :| WAIT...  
GC: >:( IF YOU’RE NOT ABLE TO GET TO YOUR LAPTOP, HOW ARE YOU MESSAGING ME???????  
OO: (I)t’s (I)ncred(I)bly s(I)mple. OO: cellphone  
OO: (I) (I)nstalled the chat cl(I)ent onto here (I)ncase my laptop was unava(I)lable  
OO: aka r(I)ght now  
OO: so f(I)x my laptop or (I) w(I)ll pluck each of your feathers one at a t(I)me  
GC: >:0 KEEP TALKING LIKE THAT AND I’LL RIP OFF YOUR WINGS AND DIP THEM IN BATTER AND ENJOY FOR DINNER!!!  
GC: :| ALSO I HAVE BEEN NOWHERE NEAR MY COMPUTER ALL DAY.  
GC: C: SO I couldn’t HAVE MESSED WITH YOUR LAPTOP.  
OO: wh(I)le (I) would love to tell you why thats completely wrong and how incred(I)bly stup(I)d for even BEL(I)EV(I)NG that  
GC: DDD:  
OO: that just shows me that you are not the culpr(I)t of th(I)s stup(I)d sh(I)t  
GC: :| WHY’D YOU EVEN THINK IT WAS ME? I’M A PINK BLOODED ARCHEOLOGIST, NOT A COMPUTER WIZZ.  
OO: cuz youre the only one who could make a fake journal poss(I)ng as the sylph of m(I)nd and actually sound l(I)ke h(I)s anc(I)ent wr(I)t(I)ngs  
GC: :0 OH MY GOG  
OO: feather duster  
OO: whats wrong  
GC: :DDDDDDDDD OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH MMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY gggggggooooooooooooooooooooooggggggggggg  
OO: oh no  
OO: oh no you d(I)d the mult(I) sm(I)le th(I)ng stretched out your letters and stopped the cap(I)tal(I)zat(I)on on the last word  
GC: :DDDDDDDDDD I WILL BE AT YOUR HOUSE IN FIVE MINUTES. IF YOU MOVE FROM YOUR SPOT I WILL FLAY YOU.  


\-- grandCatastrophe [GC] ceased bothering omnipotentOracle [OO] –-

OO: oh good gog what have (I) done


End file.
